Tell Page 2

  Shane shrugged one shoulder.

  “Come on, that’s not an answer.” Will raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I saw Amanda this morning. She looked pretty good.”

  Shane smirked. “No comment on that,” he answered. “How about you?”

  “Just Stacy.”

  “You’re still dating Stacy?” he asked in alarm.

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  Shane shook his head. “Nothing.” Will had taken Stacy Monroe, a girl on the cheerleading squad, to their junior prom, and had started going out with her shortly afterwards. Shane was surprised that the relationship was still going on; not only that, but that Will was not having sex with anyone else, which was very much unlike him.

  Mr. Johnson strode into the room then, and the chatter around them died away slowly as he began passing out syllabi printed on bright yellow paper. “Someone used up all the regular paper in the copy room,” he said bluntly, as if answering a question. “It’s the first day of school, the teachers get paid virtually nothing, and we can’t even get white paper when we want it. I hate this place.”

  “Fair enough,” Shane muttered, accepting the stapled packet that Kristy Erickson passed back. He scanned over the syllabus and his eyes zeroed in on the section labeled “Summer Reading Assignments.”

  For each of the five assigned summer reading works, the syllabus read, students should submit a paper in which they discuss the main characters, identify the central themes and significant symbolism, and analyze select quotes. The syllabus went on to list the parameters of the paper and the due dates for each one. Will had been correct when he had said that Oedipus Rex was due the following Monday.

  Shane sat back in his seat, relieved. The papers did not have to be too long and they did not seem to be terribly involved. He was grateful that he had decided not to take AP English. School was going to be a breeze this year, just like it always had been. Except maybe calculus, but he could work extra hard in that class. He had always liked math. He was planning on taking the SATs this year, and he would probably do well on those, because he was a pretty good test-taker, too. He could most likely get into whatever college he wanted. Now he just had to figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life.

  Melody sat right behind him, as she had since seventh grade, so it was no surprise that she had memorized everything about the back of his head. Andy Vandevander had a cowlick right at the spot where the top of his head curved to the back. He had a birthmark right behind his left earlobe. He wore the same silver chain all the time; she had seen him without it once, and where it had been was white and pasty, whereas the rest of his skin was a nice bronze color.

  She had the back of his head memorized, but it did not compare to the front of him. He sat down and stowed his saxophone case underneath his seat before turning around to face her. His eyes were a beautiful color of aqua. His rich brown hair framed a long, oval-shaped face with perfect features.

  “What lunch do you have?” he asked.

  “Third,” she responded.

  “Damn it,” he answered. “I have second.”

  “You’re a junior, Andy. You get a little higher priority than I do.”

  “Well, who the hell am I supposed to hang out with?”

  “I’m sure you have other friends.”

  “None as fun as you.” His face was aimed down toward the green schedule clutched in his hands, so he could not see the color rise in Melody’s face. “Man, this sucks. Why couldn’t you have been a year older?”

  “Why don’t you fail this year? That would solve everything.”

  He fiddled with his schedule, looking off into the distance as if he was seriously contemplating purposely flunking eleventh grade. But when he spoke, it was about something completely different. “Do you know Amanda Teller?”

  “I know of her,” Melody replied.

  “What do you know about her?”

  “I know that she’s a cheerleader and that she had sex with Shane Stolarz,” she responded.

  He looked at her in alarm. “How do you know that?”

  “Because she cheers at the games,” Melody answered dryly.

  “No, I mean—”

  “I know what you meant. Cadie told me that Amanda had had sex with Shane. I assume she found out from Felicia.”

  “She’s in your grade, right?”

  “Felicia?” Melody asked, smiling. “She’s in yours.”

  “No, Amanda,” Andy shot back, sounding frustrated.

  Evidently he did not find her deliberate obtuseness as amusing as she did. “Yes, she’s a sophomore,” Melody said defensively.

  Andy nodded, looking pensive, but before Melody could ask him what was on his mind, their band director came out of his office and Andy turned back around in his seat.

  Second period would mean band rehearsal for Melody until she graduated. Today and Thursday, the band room would be crowded; Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, it would only be half-full, because those were the days that the chorus rehearsed, and a good portion of the kids who were in band were in choir as well. Melody was one of those people. However, this year she was considering dropping it. Last year, almost all of their songs had been of the dragging, depressing, Jesus-praising variety. Not that Melody had anything against praising Jesus, but it was typically more exciting if it was upbeat.

  Melody preferred being in the band. She would rather play her trumpet than use her voice. Mr. Bell, their director, was skilled at choosing music that was more interesting for their marching shows. For their Christmas concerts, he tended to lean toward cheerful carols instead of dissonant hymns. He was also a lot mellower than Mrs. Abernathe, the choir director, whom many kids were convinced snorted a line of cocaine before every rehearsal.

  Mr. Bell clapped his hands together, a typical sign that he was ready to start rehearsal. “Okay, gang,” he said. “Apparently Mrs. Abernathe has something she needs to speak to the choir members about, so if that means you, head on over to the auditorium for a quick meeting, but be back here when you’re done.”

  Melody watched about half the band rise and depart the band room. Andy shifted in his seat. Mr. Bell caught Melody’s eye and looked at her quizzically.

  “Melody, aren’t you doing chorus this year?”

  She shook her head, not eager to offer up an explanation. She sighed inwardly when he motioned for her to come forward. She stood resignedly, setting her trumpet carefully on her seat, and wound her way up front.

  “Sometime when you have a study hall or some day after school, do you think you could gather some people together to help me sort through the old music?” he requested. “That room back there is a mess.”

  “Oh. Okay. Sure,” she responded, caught off guard. “Um, I don’t have any study halls, but all I have going for me after school is band, so any other day I’m free.”

  “No problem,” he said. He was looking at her oddly. When she turned to go, he asked, “Why aren’t you doing chorus this year?”

  “Oh, I just…” Melody trailed off into a shrug, though that was not really an answer.

  “She’s going to be really uptight with me,” Mr. Bell warned, but his eyes were smiling.

  “She’ll live,” Melody responded, smiling as well. She turned around and made her way back to her seat. Her eyes searched for Andy automatically, just like they always had, but to no avail—he was not there. She furrowed her brow and lowered herself into her seat slowly, eyes darting around for him, but he was not in the band room anywhere.

  Mr. Bell took his place at the large wooden podium. “Could I have an F concert scale, please?”

  Melody raised the trumpet to her lips obediently, and the remaining members of the band ran through a few warm-up scales, then two stand tunes, including “On Wisconsin” and “Louie, Louie,” before the band room door opened again. Those who had been excused for the choir meeting began pouring back into the room. Melody noticed with alarm that one member of the swarm was Andy. He filed into the r
ows of chairs and took his seat in front of her, lifting his saxophone. He did not look at her. He did not say a word.

  The remainder of rehearsal passed slowly. Melody was distracted. When it was over, Mr. Bell instructed them to put their instruments away, but she had something to take care of first. She tapped Andy on the shoulder with two fingers.

  “Shit!” Andy exploded, whirling around and dropping his mouthpiece. Evidently she had tapped him a little harder than she had intended. “What?”

  “You’re doing choir this year?” she demanded.

  “Yeah. So?” He continued taking his saxophone apart without really looking at her.

  “So, what made you decide to do it this year?” she asked. She hesitated, then added, “And why did you wait until I said I was going to quit to join?” She had mentioned this little fact to him a few weeks before school had started.

  “I was thinking about joining before you said you were going to quit,” he responded absently.

  “You’ve never seemed interested in it before.”

  “I just wanted to try something new,” he said peevishly. “Why are you getting on my case about it?”

  Melody hated the fact that when he confronted her, she immediately felt apologetic, sometimes completely unnecessarily. This was one of those times. “I just thought it was sort of weird, that’s all,” she said lamely. Of course he had the right to do whatever organization he wanted, but he was acting strangely. She felt the urge to smack some sense into him. Fortunately, that passed. She put her trumpet away and snapped the case closed. She could not escape the heavy feeling in her gut, like she had just lost some major argument.

  Melody stood to put her instrument away in the closet when Lucas Snyder walked over to the two of them. Melody had known Lucas for years, but he was more Andy’s friend than he was hers. “Hey, guys,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Melody’s giving me the third degree about joining choir,” Andy responded, without looking at Lucas.

  Lucas wrinkled his nose. “Ew. Why are you joining choir?”

  Andy rolled his eyes and did not answer.

  Lucas turned his attention to Melody. “How was your summer?” he asked her.

  “It was decent. Nothing special.” She was distracted by Andy’s cattiness. “How about yours?”

  “I got my license in July,” he offered. “I don’t have to take the bus anymore.”

  “Well, that’s cool.”

  Andy just grunted. His mother was one of the secretaries in the main office and still drove him to school every day. Andy himself had just gotten his license about two weeks ago.

  “Hey, kiddos.” Neil Plummer, one of the guys who played snare drum in their line, moseyed over. Melody tried hard not to roll her eyes. For some reason Andy had started hanging around with Neil over the summer, and she could not for the life of her figure out why. She found his personality to be completely grating.

  “Hey, Neil,” Andy said, sounding interested.

  “Hey,” Lucas added, sounding guarded. Melody suspected Lucas was not a big fan of Neil either.

  Neil tapped Melody on the arm. “How’s it going, cutie?”

  Melody shied away from him. “I have to go to English.” She picked up her trumpet and headed toward the instrument room. “Talk to you guys later.”

  Felicia’s teacher for honors English was Mr. Bundy, and she waited impatiently for him to finish roll. It caught her attention when he read a name she did not recognize. Elliot Something. A blonde girl responded, “Here.” Felicia glanced at her, an unfamiliar face, a strange new development in the eleventh grade, whose name did not match her gender.

  Once Mr. Bundy was through with attendance, he began talking to them about his expectations of the class, what material they would cover, and the other usual garbage. Felicia had been waiting for him to get to this part so she could let her mind wander back to what it had been thinking about all day—for the past few months, really.

  Brian’s departure was creeping closer and closer. All summer she had managed to push from her head the thought of his leaving, but she could do it no longer. She had pretended his graduation had not happened, despite the fact that there was a framed photo of him in his cap and gown on her desk at home. The letter of acceptance from Ohio State had clearly just been a figment of her imagination, or possibly a clever forgery. The boxes that littered his bedroom were obviously for the purpose of building a fort. She had to keep telling herself these ridiculous things because she simply was not prepared to accept the fact that he was actually leaving.

  Brian had first been a friend of Shane’s. They had played football together, but Brian had finally quit because he had, by his own admission, “sucked.” Felicia had known him by sight but not actually met him until the beginning of the last school year when Shane had started bringing him around to their house.

  Felicia had been in her room practicing for a dance recital when Shane had barged in without knocking. “Brian likes you,” he had announced.

  She had been sweating, breathless, and in an absurd position on the floor with her legs splayed out on either side of her. “What?”

  “Brian likes you,” Shane had repeated. “God knows why I’m telling you this, because it’s not like you tell me whenever your friends like me; you just have them excommunicated—”

  “Brian likes me?” she had asked, standing abruptly from the absurd position. “He told you that?”

  “His exact words were, ‘Would it be cool if I ask your sister out, because she seems really cool.’ ”

  “Does he even know my name?”

  “I don’t know.” He had walked out of the room. “Ask him when he comes over,” he had called.

  He had, of course, known her name. And he had asked her out (“Would it be cool if we went out sometime?”), and she had said yes, and Shane had ribbed her about dating his friends when he was not allowed to date hers, but it had all been good-natured. They had gone on three dates before the homecoming dance when he asked her to be his official girlfriend (“Would it be cool if we just dated each other and not anyone else?”), and she had told him yes then, too, and they had spent every day since then growing closer. The two of them had shared almost everything together.

  They had shared almost everything together, but not entirely everything.

  Felicia shifted in her seat and looked around guiltily, even though she knew it was silly. No one could read her thoughts. No one knew that she was thinking about sex. Still, she could feel her face heat up and knew she was turning red.

  Sex was not a topic with which she felt entirely comfortable. It had not been brought up in her relationship with Brian until the spring, or more specifically, the night of his senior prom. Felicia had told her parents she was going to stay at Cadie’s that night, but that had never been the plan; Cadie had not even gone to the prom. The plan was to go back to Brian’s and stay there, because his parents were not there that night. And the two of them had stuck to their plans.

  That night was the first time he had asked her to have sex with him (fortunately, the word “cool” had not crept its way into that request). It was also the first time she had refused. It was not that she had a strict policy against having sex, or felt strongly that sex should be something experienced only between married couples. She knew that she would probably have sex with Brian eventually. She just was not ready to do it that night. They had compromised and done some other things.

  Since then, it seemed that Brian was not shy about asking her to have sex with him. Felicia was equally not shy about saying no. She sated him in other ways, and that seemed to satisfy him, for awhile. But sometimes when she offered, he would refuse and pout for awhile before grudgingly accepting her offer. She could tell he was growing impatient, particularly with his departure for college coming toward them at a seemingly alarming rate.

  Still she refused, though now she was having a harder time of coming up with reasons why. She was not ready. She told him that ti
me and time again—she was not ready. But that did little to satisfy him, and she did not feel there was much else she could say.

  Felicia and Cadie did not talk about things in the way of sex. In one conversation, Felicia had revealed that she and Brian had not done it yet, and he was pressuring her slightly to do it, but that was all she had said. She had not let on the things they had or had not done together. She did not feel comfortable talking about sex. Even if she did, talking to Cadie probably would not have brought any great revelations, because she knew that Cadie had about as much experience as she herself did. Cadie had had one actual boyfriend, a guy named Tom Geist that she had dated for six months, and Felicia knew they had not had sex. Therefore, she considered herself pretty much on her own in her actions in this area.

  God forbid she tell Shane. She had no idea how he would react, but she had a feeling it would not be good, considering he had known Brian since middle school and had been Felicia’s brother since the age of one year and 364 days. He was slightly overprotective, even though he had no qualms about sleeping with her friends.

  Three

  Cadie took a seat in the back of the room at the beginning of her AP English class. She preferred to sit in the back, though she did not really know why. Her eyes had trouble adjusting between the chalk board at the front of the class and her notebook when she was taking notes. It probably did not matter anyway; teachers almost always moved the kids where they wanted them. She looked around at the familiar faces as they filtered into the room. One face she had not been expecting to see was that of Stacy Monroe. She was hard to miss, wearing a baggy navy sweater, navy-and-white striped shorts, and navy flats. Her wavy blonde hair was pulled back into a white scrunchie. Stacy always looked like she was desperately trying to bring the eighties back. She saw Cadie across the room and her face broke into a bright smile as she approached.